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FUNERAL DISCOURSE, 

OCCASIONKD BT THK DEATH OF THE 

HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER. 

BY THOMAS E. VERIWII.YE, D. ». 



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FUNERAL DiSCOUliSE, 



OCCASIONKU BY THE DEATH OF THE 



HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER, 



UELIVEKED I\ THE 



NORTH DUTCH CHURCH, ALBANY, 



ON SABBATH EVENING, FEB. 3, 1339. 



/ 

BY THOMAS E. VERMILYE, D. D. 



PASTOR OF THE CHUKCH. 



BY REQUEST. 




U.S.A. ^ ; 

.0,. ^'^ / 



S ALBANY : 

PRINTED BY J. MUNSELL, STATE STREET. 
1839. 



SERMON. 



GENESIS XLIX. 13. 

" / liavie leaked for thy salvation^ O Lorciy 

Beside the spectacle of youthful piety, lovely 
in itself and bright in its promise, there is none 
to be compared, in moral beauty, with that of an 
aged saint preparing for his translation : of one, 
mature in the graces, and laden with the fruits 
of the Spirit, awaiting with resignation not un- 
mingled with desire, the signal of release from 
the world, and of admission into heaven. The 
rising and the setting sun of a life of holiness, 
are alike objects of interest and attraction. The 
former, as it breaks from the mists and darkness 
of earth, darts abroad its beams, and mounts on 
its way " rejoicing as a strong man to run a 
race." The latter, while dilated to its fullest 
orb, it seems to linger, for a moment, at the end 
of its course, bathes the landscape in mellowed 
hues, converts the clouds that have gathered 



round its departure into a pavilion of glory, and 
then melts away and disappears from our sight. 
We stand, fixed to the spot where w^e caught its 
last rays, and amidst the gloominess which suc- 
ceeds, can scarce believe that it is yet shining 
in other climes. 

Of aged piety in this attitude of expectation, 
and through its closing scenes, the history of the 
Patriarchs affords us several illustrious exam- 
ples. And in the annals of the church many 
similar instances have appeared, from age to 
age, which show the power of divine grace and 
attest the faithfulness of God to his promises. 
I have selected that of Jacob, as a subject de- 
lightful in itself, and affording a fitting introduc- 
tion to the special duties of the present occasion. 

After a life, protracted to an extreme age, 
and checkered by many trials and cares, yet 
upon the whole prosperous and happy, " the time 
drew nigh that Israel must die." Premonished 
of that event by evident tokens, he called his son 
Joseph to give commandment concerning liis 
burial. And for reasons which showed the 
strength and tenderness of liis natural attach- 
ments, as well as liis regard to the purpose of 
God respecting the promised inheritance, he re- 
quired, with the solemnity of -an oath, that he 
should not be buried in Egypt: '' But I will lie 



with my fathers, and thou shalt carry me out of 
Egypt, and bury me in their burying place." 
After this, disease settling upon him, and his 
end rapidly approaching, Joseph is again sum- 
moned, and presents himself with his sons, Ma- 
nassah and Ephraim. And during this inter- 
view occurred some of the most tender and touch- 
ing incidents that can be imagined. Jacob re- 
counts, with pious gratitude, the goodness and 
care of that God, who, when he first departed 
from his father's house, had appeared to him at 
Luz and blessed him there, and who had led him 
all his life long. He adopts as his own, the two 
sons of Joseph, who had been born to him ere 
Jacob came down to Egypt, and invokes upon 
them the patriarchal benediction, preferring the 
younger before the elder. Next he called toge- 
ther all his sons to receive his final blessing: and 
growing prophetic in death, tells them severally 
the things which sliould befal them in the last 
days. In the midst of his discourse, apparently 
becoming faint, and feeling himself ready to ex- 
pire, he pauses and then abruptly breaks forth 
in the exclamation of our text. Recovering 
strengtii, however, he proceeds until he had cini- 
merated the other tribes, and closes by solemnly 
repeating his injunctions respecting his burial. 
" And it came to pass, when Jacob had made an 



end of commanding his sons, that he gathered up 
his feet into the bed and yielded up the ghost, and 
was gathered unto his people." Such is the sim- 
ple and unadorned manner in which the sacred 
writer records his peaceful and happy death. 
His work done, his blessing pronounced upon his 
children, his last commands uttered, having com- 
mitted the keeping of his soul to God, willingly 
and without a struggle he descends to the quiet 
grave. 

The language in our text seems to have no 
special connection with what precedes or fol- 
lows. It is most probable, that believing himself 
at the point of dissolution, the Patriarch meant 
to welcome that event, by this ejaculation of 
warm and lively devotion. And it is as if he 
had said, " I have believed thy promises of future 
life and blessedness through the great Messias. 
I have longed to attain it : I am ready to die 
whenever thou shalt please. "I have waited for 
thy salvation, O Lord/' 

This interpretation suggests two general to- 
pics, upon which I shall enlarge. And I observe, 

I. That the release of the saint from this mor- 
tal state by death, is represented and is to be 
regarded as his salvation. 

In one view, (and it is a most important one,) 
his salvation, being connected with the atone- 



ment of Christ as its meritorious cause, and de- 
pending on his infallible promise that " whoso- 
ever believeth shall not come into condemnation, 
but is passed from death unto life," may be said 
to be actually commenced, when by the influen- 
ces of the Spirit, he is renewed in the temper of 
his mind and is enabled to exercise faith in the 
adorable Redeemer. At that moment is it se- 
cured to him. He becomes united in bonds of 
love and duty on his part, and of promise and 
faithfulness on the part of God, with Christ his 
covenant head, whose power is thenceforth en- 
gaged to guard his chosen. He is ''sealed with 
that Holy Spirit of promise, which is the earnest 
of our inheritance until the redemption of the 
purchased possession." By the first act of living 
faith he is justified and constituted "an heir of 
the grace of eternal life." And though weak in 
himself to resist his enemies, and still compassed 
about with a body of sin and of death, his Re- 
deemer is mighty to save ; nor is there any pow- 
er in the universe that " shall separate him from 
the love of God." 

In another view, it may also be affirmed, that 
his salvation will not be completed, until the re- 
surrection of the just. Then, but not till then, 
the scattered dust shall be gathered and reunited 
with the glorified' spirit ; bis faded form shall be 



retouched with living beauties, and his whole re- 
deemed person shall appear, as the property of 
the Saviour, to grace his triumphs before the 
throne. Something, then, the absence of the 
body may abstract from his consummated bliss. 
Yet we are as distinctly instructed that the body 
shall rise to bloom in the Paradise above, " now 
no more to see corruption," as that the soul 
" shall ascend to God w ho gave it." Nor will the 
scheme of redemption be fully completed, nor 
will the Saviour's work in behalf of his people be 
finished, before every vestige of successful rebel- 
lion shall have ceased from the empire of Jeho- 
vah ; before he shall have abolished death, the 
believer's last and most relentless enemy, before 
he shall have rescued from its thraldom all over 
which it asserted sway and brought his ran- 
somed home to glory. Oh! what a theme is here 
given to our meditations ! Think of it, believer ! 
" Thy dead men shall live :" the precious dust, 
that with tears thou dost commit to its kindred 
dust, yea, thine own decayed frame shall be re- 
animated and shall stand amidst the shining 
throng. Thy voice shall unite with theirs to 
swell the rapturous hosanna, " Now is come sal- 
vation, and strength, and the kingdom of our 
God, and the power of his Christ." 



Yet in another view, it may with the utmost 
propriety and correctness be affirmed, that so far 
as relates to the actual attainment of some of its 
most precious benefits, denied him here, and as 
to all practical results, his salvation is realized 
by the believer at death. He then disrobes to 
be clothed upon with immortality. 

1. It is so, inasmuch as death fully and forever 
emancipates him from all the corruptions of the 
flesh. There is perhaps no part of the divine deal- 
ings with the believer, which at times appears to 
him more mysterious, than that having been the ob- 
ject of such signal compassion and grace as were 
displayed in the death of Christ and in the actual 
application of his blood, he should yet be sub- 
ject to so much remaining sinfulness. He claims 
no perfection here, but suffers a bitter conflict 
from " the law in his members warring against 
the law of his mind." The struggle is inward. 
And so formidable are temptations, so strong his 
depraved appetites, so easily inflamed, that in 
the tumult and agitation of his spirit, he is often 
tempted to doubt his calling of God, and to fear 
lest he should at last be cast away. It is the 
source of disquietude and anguish to his soul, 
that he is so facile in temptation, and so prone 
to sin: that "the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, 
and the Spirit against the flesh;" that "when 



10 

he would do good evil is present with him." 
And the only evidence from which he can draw 
a comfortahle conclusion that he is still a child 
of God, and that which places a wide difference 
between him and every unrenewed man, and 
even between his present and former state, is not 
that he has no corruptions, but the conscious- 
ness that his soul does not love sin as once it 
did, that it does not choose it as its chief de- 
light, and that he mourns over it w4th unfeigned 
humiliation. To that covenant which is ordered 
well in all things and sure, he flies for relief: to 
the Head of that covenant he commits the keep- 
ing of his soul, amidst all its temptations and 
fears. — Now although it is the mind consenting, 
that constitutes the sin when he is thus tempted, 
yet how intimately is that mind connected with 
the body. How dependant is it, in our present 
organization, upon our various senses and mem- 
bers, not only to give expression to its inward 
workings, but for its very perceptions, sensations 
and emotions. How powerfully do they influ- 
ence and even control all its operations. Through 
them the world without allures and seduces, and 
they become the inciters as well as instruments 
of unrighteousness unto sin. But at death the 
spirit quits its earthly tenement, and leaves the 
world behind. Henceforth it is disenthralled 



11 

from its bondage to corruption, from all com- 
munion with sense and sensible objects, and 
moves a pure spirit among spiritual delights. 
" It is sown a natural body," that it may be 
" raised a spiritual body." — If then we maintain 
that the believer, but partially sanctified here, 
becomes perfected by the process of death, the 
idea will not appear so strange, when we reflect 
that the soul, by that event, is removed at once 
from those influences that most disturb its peace 
and purity, and from a sinful w^orld and contact 
with the flesh. Though this may not be all that 
is required, but its faculties may yet demand 
some positive enlargement, and its affections 
superadded vigor and sanctity, yet how mighty 
a change will the mere separation from the body 
produce in all its relations, sympathies and ex- 
ercises! Defilement from the members, or the 
senses, or the w^orld, there will be none. It 
will be prepared to follow every holy impulse 
without hindrance, and to give full scope to its 
holy desires without interruption. 

2. Death is salvation, inasmuch as it releases 
the saint from all the cares and pains of the pre- 
sent life. Fearfully and faithfully has that por- 
tion of the original curse been inflicted upon the 
earthly state of every child of Adam, "in sorrow 
sbalt thou eat of it, all the days of thy life." 



12 

" Man is born unto trouble." And though there 
exists a wide diversity as to the mode and the 
degree of actual suffering among men, yet every 
'' heart knoweth its own bitterness." Not an 
individual is so favored, nor a condition so ele- 
vated in the world, as to be beyond the reach 
of woe. We touch life at so many points and 
are accessible through so many avenues ; we 
are dependant for comfort and enjoyment upon 
so many persons and circumstances over which 
we cannot exercise an absolute or perhaps any 
control; and disease, and disappointment, and 
bereavement, and care, are so closely entwined 
with the thread of human life, that all may ex- 
pect, and all should prepare for " the days of 
darkness, for they shall be many." In the com- 
mon lot, the believer, however eminent in the at- 
tainments of piety, is included. He too is forced 
to endure perplexity and disappointment, the loss 
of earthly goods, the sundering of the cords of 
affection^ and whatever pain and sickness can 
inflict, while they are bringing down the clay 
tenement to the dust. " We," saith the apostle, 
" that are in this tabernacle do groan, being bur- 
dened." Yet soon it is passed, and his worn 
frame enters a peaceful haven. In the grave 
his anguish is over : there " the wicked cease 
from troubling and the weary be at rest :" the 



13 

spirit is released, enlarged. Nor does he " fly 
from ills he feels to those he knows not of." For 
all his trials, of whatever kind, are thenceforth 
at an end. And throughout the course of his 
endless existence, he is again to experience no 
such catastrophe as death itself Its stroke falls 
once, and reaches all that is vulnerable : its 
blighting breath passes over that which is fading, 
and it has performed its ofiice. '' This corrupti- 
ble shall put on incorruption, this mortal shall 
be clothed with immortality." Beyond the final 
struggle we witness, "there shall be no more 
death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall 
there be any more pain; for the former things 
are passed away." 

3. Death is salvation, because it also intro- 
duces the saint to the immediate fruition of God 
in heaven. It is no part of the divine testimony 
in relation to this interesting subject, nor are 
we left to infer, that at death the soul descends 
to sleep "in cold obstruction" with the body: that 
it lies in insensibility, without consciousness, 
without enjoyment, until the resurrection of the 
last day. Oh ! No ! The withering thought, 
whatever relief such a doctrine might be sup- 
posed to bring to the wicked, if they dare not 
hope for utter annihilation, finds no countenance 
in the true sayings of God. They teach us di- 



14 

rectly the reverse. That spirit, which, while we 
watched in breathless suspense we almost ima- 
gine ourselves to have seen go forth, yet lives: 
lives in the full possession of all its faculties, 
with consciousness awake and sensibilities unim- 
paired. It has but laid aside the material form 
through which it was revealed to sense. — Nor is 
the state into which it has entered, one of mere 
negation : the absence of pain, but not the en- 
joyment of positive good. Desirable as this 
might seem, it is not half the truth. The open- 
ing tomb is to the saint the portal of life : the 
termination of all his cares indeed, but also the 
commencement of actual and endless blessed- 
ness. " To depart," the apostle declares, '' is to 
be with Christ." " To be absent from the body" 
is " to be present with the Lord." It is to come 
immediately in spirit '' to the Mount Zion, the 
city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, 
to an innumerable company of angels, to the 
general assembly and church of the first born 
which are written in heaven, to God the Judge 
of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, 
and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant." 
It is to be admitted to the pilgrim's home : to 
enter upon those employments and partake of 
the enjoyments that engage redeemed, glorified 
men. It is to stand amidst the company that 



15 

no man can number, who are before the throne. 
It is to take our harp and begin the anthem 
which shall be prolonged while eternity lasts. 
And is not this salvation 1 Is it not all we can 
ask ? Shall we not indeed be ennobled, if we 
poor sinners, heirs of the apostacy, shall be raised 
from the pollutions of earth, from the corruptions 
of sin, from the depths of hell to such heights 
of felicity? Or need we mourn for the saint 
when we behold him rising to those seats of joy ? 
Or shall we sigh when our time has come, and 
the voice shall speak to us from the opening 
heavens, saying. Come up hither? 

But we proceed, 

II. to observe, that for this release by death 
the believer waits, as for " a consummation de- 
voutly to be wished." "I have waited for thy 
salvation, O Lord." The expression in the lips 
of Jacob and of every believer, implies, 

1. The exercise of constant and unwavering 
faith. This whole subject he contemplates in 
the light of the divine word, and adopts all its 
revelations respecting it and all other matters of 
interest and importance to his present or future 
condition, as the simple, unchangeable truth ; 
the declarations, the assurances of a God who 
is boundless in his grace as he is faithful to his 
promises: who has all power in his hand, who 



16 

will not deceive and who cannot lie. And there 
is something ineffably beautiful in this simple, 
child-like temper, which refers every thing to 
the will and word of God, and without doubt or 
misgiving receives what he has said, because 
He hath spoken it. — Faith takes its stand, as 
on the mount of vision. It turns not "to the king- 
doms of this world and the glory of them," but 
to the " land that is very far off." Directed by 
this chart of the inheritance, it surveys its rich 
and varied beauties. Beyond the narrow stream 
of death, it beholds it expanding before the eye : 
no sun nor moon sliine in that firmament, yet 
there is no night there, for "the Lamb is the 
light thereof:" — no sultry skies, no wintry winds 
shed baleful influences: "for the inhabitants shall 
not say, I am sick ;" no sin defiles and destroys ; 
for " the people that dwell therein shall be for- 
given their iniquities." And while it is thus en- 
gaged upon the word of grace, faith gives sub- 
stance to the things hoped for, and becomes evi- 
dence of the things not seen. It converts those 
distant prospects into present realities : walks 
without trembling the way that leads to the glo- 
ry that is in reserve ; observes how each truth 
and providence directs to one issue : and at ev- 
ery step of its pilgrimage the path grows bright 
beneath the promise. It knows that death will 



17 

be a sweet release : it comprehends the myste- 
rious conclusion that " to die is gain." 

2. This language includes a cheering hope. 
In the ample provisions of the covenant of re- 
demption, the true Christian has been encouraged 
and enabled to take to his bosom the precious 
consolation that he has obtained an individual 
interest : and that in those sublime discoveries 
which are revealed to faith, he shall have a per- 
sonal share. '"The Spirit witnesseth with our 
spirits that we are the children of God." Nor 
can any thing be more delightful than such a 
conviction, produced by the sovereign dispenser 
of light and love, or more soothing and invigor- 
ating to the mind. " We are saved by hope," 
saith an apostle. And strange and even ques- 
tionable as the assertion might appear, if it be 
thought to suspend our final happiness upon the 
simple fiict that we hope for it, yet there is a 
solution which lies within the skill, and its truth 
is within the experience of every saint. His 
hope rests upon a performing God. The arm 
of omnipotence is his strong-hold and sure de- 
fence. And past evidences of the goodness and 
care of his covenant head, relieving his fears, 
subduing his corruptions, dissipating his doubts, 
sending timely succor, sustaining his graces and 
supporting his weary steps, are so many distinct 

3 



18 

indications of his favor : animating pledges that 
''he will not forsake the work of his own hands." 
Oh ! it is most sweet to rest on such a promise. 
Along his arduous way, this hope exerts enliven- 
ing power. It lightens toil, revives despond- 
ency, dispels anxiety, and infuses into his spirit 
delightful alacrity. It is the hallowed principle, 
which, cherished hy the tender mercies of our 
God, operates with constant and quickening in- 
fluence upon all the other faculties of the new 
man, and gives intensity and vigor to all other 
graces. And if this element may seem, in its 
very nature, to include the presence of some 
doubt and fear, these apprehensions serve the 
necessary purpose of keeping the Christian faith- 
ful and active in the prosecution of his high call- 
ing; but do not necessarily make him wish to 
postpone the period when hope shall be lost in 
fruition. For, 

3. This language expresses strong desire. On 
a sober comparison of his present with his future 
state, there is seen to be little reason why the 
servant of the Lord should prefer to remain be- 
low. Principles have been implanted in his 
soul, affections have been awakened there, which 
can find their appropriate objects and full scope 
in heaven alone. Here there is little unison 
with his prevailing sentiments; from a world 



19 

lying in wickedness he can expect neither sym- 
pathy with his holiest emotions, nor assistance 
in his highest aims. Almost all surrounding 
scenes exert a chilling, few a favoring influence 
upon his piety: and the toils and perplexities, 
and even the necessary pursuits of the world, 
too frequently tend to weigh down, and cripple, 
and confine his loftiest energies. This he feels 
in seasons of high spirituality. And shall we 
wonder if he sometimes sighs for his dismission? 
Or is it strange, if, when he finds his soaring 
spirit drawn downwards by the attractions of 
this earth, his feelings should often vent them- 
selves in the longings of holy Paul, " I have a 
desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is 
far better." — But especially is this the frequent 
experience of aged Christians. At the last stage 
of their journey, when the frame is enfeebled and 
languid, to the common infirmities which nature 
imposes upon that hour, " when the keepers of 
the house do tremble, and the grasshopper is be- 
come a burden," are often added new cares and 
anxieties. Not unfrequently at that season Sa- 
tan seems most determined in his enmities, most 
insidious and active in his devices. Oh ! is it 
marvellous in our eyes, if then the saint who 
has trodden the long and toilsome way, and has 
now come to the river Jordan, and in sight of 



20 

the heavenly Canaan, should desire, should long 
to go over and possess the land ? That while he 
stands leaning upon his staff, contemplating the 
prospect, with a frame beaten and wearied by 
many a storm, his ear should be attentive to 
catch every sound that may call him away ? 
But, 

4. This language also implies patience and 
submission. The lesson which it is the special 
object of so large a part of the varied discipline 
of providence to teach him, and which is called 
into practice almost every day of life, at this peri- 
od, and under the trials which the decay of na- 
ture inflicts, is especially enforced, and receives 
its most beautiful exemplification. For nothing 
surely can be more lovely, nothing so touching as 
to hear the saint, whose venerable frame bows 
beneatli its own weight, upon whom presses the 
burden of years, accompanied perhaps with bodily 
pain and anguish, exclaim, "not my will, but thine 
be done !" To observe how strong he is in the 
confidence that all he suffers is from God, and 
all he does is right and good. In .such a specta- 
cle of patient submission, we behold one of the 
triumphs of Christian faith. It is a triumph 
over the flesh, over self: and it is equalled only 
by its other achievements, in overcoming the 
world and annihilating the terrors of the grave. 



21 

As to the moment and the mode of his de- 
parture, then, the Christian is resigned and pa- 
tient. He leaves it with his Saviour. His time, 
his method are best. Come when or how it 
may, he is ready, he is willing to depart: nay 
he desires it, but will not dictate to infinite wis- 
dom: he feels that God has his own purposes to 
accomplish : and in such a frame he "both hopes 
and quietly waits for the salvation of God." 

In how different a light, brethren, and with 
wiiat different sentiments does this subject teach 
us to regard death, from that in which it is apt 
to present itself to our conceptions : and how im- 
pressively and gloriously does it commend true, 
practical religion? Poetry need borrow no ter- 
rors from imagination, in which to deck the grim 
destroyer. To all the common and deep-rooted 
sensibilities of our nature it is repulsive. And 
to the sinner, in every aspect in which he can 
contemplate it, it is fearful and appalling. It 
brings to a final close his enjoyments, his ex- 
pectations, his hopes ; estranges him forever from 
the places and objects in which he mingled with 
delight, and where his soul placed all its happi- 
ness, and removes him — whither? Ah! where 
is that spirit, now torn from its hold on earth, 
to find a resting place in the universe of God ? 
Or what joy or hope can radiate from the infi- 



22 

del's dark creed, in the prospect of separation 
from the abodes of men ? Death ! the very 
thought, when soberly entertained, pierces the 
guilty breast with agony. In that honest hour 
it feels that it needs what it possesses not. And 
we can easily understand why such men strive 
to banish it from their minds : why, though it 
is but a poor comment on their boasted philoso- 
phy, they ply every expedient, however frivolous 
and contemptible, to hush the voice of awakened 
conscience, or with one of their leaders "draw 
the curtains" to exclude the painful vision. 

But to the believer, it is \ salvation. He 
waits for it. It introduces him to immediate 
communion with all that is pure, and elevated, 
and blissful in heaven. And despite of the stern 
features of the " formidable shape," he smiles at 
death, and welcomes its approach, as that of a 
messenger sent on an errand of love and mercy. 
No such aspect can it possibly wear to the gay 
worldlinsr or the cold unbeliever. — Contrast the 
two, and tell me then whose condition in the 
last encounter is the best? Whose principles, 
whose creed, when brought to the trial, appears 
most desirable? And remember, that for all 
these "great and precious promises,'- these hea- 
venly consolations which brighten life, and shed 
their lustre round the dying pillow, we are in- 



debted solely and exclusively to the glorious gos- 
pel of the ever blessed God. 

And, brethren, what other, what real, solid 
comfort is left to survivors in the loss of beloved 
friends, than that which flows from tins same 
source ? When they hold the hand that yields 
its last faint pressure, and catch the whispered 
farewell; when they cling to the bosom that now 
answers not their warm endearment, when re- 
cognition there is none, and the form on which 
they gaze is cold and senseless, Oh ! what can 
comfort them, if that farewell were for ever ? 
What can alleviate their impassioned grief, but 
the assurance that with " the righteous it is 
well 7" The bitter separation loses half its sad- 
ness, when they think, when they know, that 
they shall meet again. 

As our subject receives no common illustration 
from the character and closing life of that be- 
loved and venerated servant of God, whose re- 
cent departure has filled so many hearts with 
sadness, I proceed in the attempt to recall his 
image, and embody his example for our instruc- 
tion. We mourn, but he rejoices. I have reason 
to know that death was contemplated by him, 
as a kind discharge from his warfare, "the end 
of his faith, even the salvation of his soul:" and 



24 

that during many months, he has been waiting 
for it with patient, submissive desire. The dis- 
ease with which for a very considerable period 
he had been visited, one of the most agonizing 
and terrible humanity can endure, having w^ithin 
three years greatly increased in its severity, gave 
him distinct intimations that the Master had 
come and called for him. And as his course 
had been one of humble walking with God, he 
now engaged in assiduous and delightful prepa- 
ration to obey the summons. Never has it been 
my privilege to witness a scene, in which faith 
seemed so completely to have surmounted, not 
only the fear of death, but even mortal agony, as 
when, about a year since, his disorder assuming 
a most formidable aspect, seemed preparing to 
put a speedy termination to his life. He appear- 
ed to my eye, like one standing just within the 
porch of light, rather than one who was walking 
amidst the shades of the dark valley. And often 
since has he said to me with a touching emphas- 
is, ''oh! I do not wish to come back again to 
the world." " I am afraid I may lose these de- 
lightful exercises." "I fear I commit great sin, 
in being too anxious to go." No language can 
better express the feelings which seemed to per- 
vade his soul, than that of the departing Jacob. 



You will not expect from me a detailed nar- 
rative of his life, which belongs to the province 
of biography, but such recollections and re- 
marks only as may tend to exhibit his moral 
and religious character. It is proper, however, 
that I should notice some of the general facts of 
his history. 

The Hon. Stephen Van Rensselaer was the 
lineal descendant of one of our oldest families, 
who at the earliest settlement of the country, 
obtained from the Dutch government the grant 
of the manor of Rensselaerwyck ; v/hicli was 
subsequently confirmed, under the English, by 
letters patent from James II. in 1685, and again 
in 1704, during the reign of Q,ueen Anne. — He 
was born in the city of New- York on the first 
day of November, 1764, and consequently was 
in his 75th year at the time of his decease. 
Losing his father at a very tender age, and his 
mother forming a second matrimonial connexion 
with the Rev. Dr. Westerlo, formerly pastor of 
this church, he was brought more immediately 
under the influence of that eminent and devoted 
Christian, whose name he always revered. Un- 
doubtedly to this circumstance in a measure, 
and much more to the solicitude, the prayers 
and instructions of a godly mother, is to be at- 
tributed the implanting of those seeds of right- 



26 

eousncss, which in after life produced so rich a 
harvest. The memory of that mother he che- 
rished to the last, with a strong and affectionate 
attachment. To her lessons of piety, most care- 
fully inscribed upon his youthful mind, he often 
adverted with feeling interest, as a great and 
permanent blessing. He had early been taught 
by her to employ a "Manual of Devotion," with 
which he commonly engaged in that solemn 
duty; and a worn-out copy, used to his dying 
day, remains a memorial, as much of his filial 
affection as of his habits of devotion. Her mourn- 
ing ring, which he always wore, he desired 
should be buried with him.* 

He received the rudiments of his education 
first at a day school in this city, and then at 
Elizabethtown, N. J. He was afterwards at 
the Kingston Academy, where commenced his 
acquaintance with the lamented Abraham Van 
Vechten; wiiich ripened into a warm, confiding 
intimacy, and survived in all its strength until 
the recent death of his friend. From the Acad- 

* Her family name was Livingston. She was a daughter of Philip 
Livingston, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and 
sister lo the wife of Dr. Livingston, last of New-Brunswick. She died 
April 17, 1810, aged 64, leaving three sons and two daughters. Need I 
oiler a word of comment on the above recital, to prove the abiding and 
blessed effects of maternal fidelity. Let it be added to the thousand in- 
stances already on record, that, for the high eminence of his piety, hia 
honor and usefulness, our departed friend was largely indebted, under 
God, to the example and instructions of his mother. 



27 

emy, he was placed by his mother, ever anxious 
for his religious welfare, under the charge of 
the Rev. Dr. Witherspoon, whom he accompa- 
nied on horseback from this place to Princeton; 
part of the distance with an escort provided by 
General Washington, by whom they had been 
hospitably entertained at West-Point. After a 
year or two of preparatory study, he entered 
Nassau Hall : but subsequently removed to Cam- 
bridge, where he graduated in 1782. — Although 
too young to take an active part in our revolu- 
tionary struggle, he was early imbued with the 
sentiments and feelings which animated the men 
of that period, and retained them throughout his 
life. He uniformly adhered to the political creed 
of the " Father of his Country." His public ca- 
reer commenced in 1789, when he was chosen 
to the Assembly of this State. He was next 
in the Senate, and in 1795, at the age of thirty- 
one, became its presiding officer in the capacity 
of Lieutenant Governor ; which station he held 
for six years. From 1800 to 1820 he was fre- 
quently in the Assembly; was a member of two 
different state conventions called to explain and 
revise the Constitution: and for several years 
occupied a seat in the Congress of the United 
States. — He was among the earliest and most 
ardent friends of internal improvements through- 



28 

out the State. In 1810 lie was appointed one 
of the State CommissionerSj and for the last 
fourteen years of his life was President of the 
Canal Board. He was at the same time the 
Chancellor of the University of New-York. 

His military course began in 1787: but he 
was never employed in active service, except 
during the last war with Great-Britain, when 
he commanded on the Niagara frontier, and wms 
engaged in the battle of Q,ueenston, with repu- 
tation and honor. 

He was twice married, and leaves his w^idow 
and a numerous family to deplore his loss.* 

But very inadequate and imperfect indeed is 
the impression we receive from such a sketch: 
although it may serve to show that his virtues 
were nourished and grew, not in the retreats 
of contemplative life alone, but amidst the avo- 
cations and engagements of public service. The 
leading features of his mind and heart, it is with 
great diffidence I attempt to trace. 

His intellectual endowments, though present- 
ing, in my opinion, a rare and delightful combi- 

* His first wife was the daughter of Gen. Philip Schuyler of revolu- 
tionary memorj'. Of this marriage one son (the present Gen. Stephen 
Van Rensselaer) remains. His second wife is the daughter of the Hon, 
Wm. Patterson, late Governor of New-Jersey, and at the time of his de- 
cease one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of the United States. Her 
nine children (six sons and three daughters) survive their father. 



29 

nation of substantial qualities, were not charac- 
terized by quickness or brilliancy to dazzle, or 
towering genius to astonish and subdue. But 
wliat, in conducting the business of life, is or- 
dinarily much more valuable and useful, was 
found in him : sound judgment, strong good sense 
to comprehend what was right, and courage and 
decision to maintain it. With a quiet, but un- 
varying firmness, yet without obstinacy, he ad- 
hered to opinions or pursued objects he had sa- 
tisfied himself were correct; while none thought 
of questioning that the purest sentiments and 
loftiest principles dictated his conduct. He was 
little disposed to contend, but as little To yield 
his convictions, or be driven from his duty. 

He was a man of remarkable humility^ con- 
nected with a striking simjylicity in all his tastes 
and habits. The "ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit," seemed to shed its mild and softened 
light over his whole person, and appeared in all 
the intercourse of life. There were no arts to 
attract observation, there was not the slightest 
assertion of superiority, no elaboration of man- 
ners : nor could there be detected the smallest 
propensity to exact deference to his rank or will, 
which however all most cheerfully paid to his 
goodness. Indeed, anything like pride or haugh- 
tiness, or ostentation in regard to himself or 



30 

any thing pertaining to him, he was the far- 
thest from manifesting, and evidently from feel- 
ing, of any human being I have ever known. 
It certainly was remarkable, that, possessing 
boundless wealth, standing in the highest rank 
of society, having enjoyed dignities and station, 
and commanding universal respect and admira- 
tion, his mind should have remained so com- 
pletely untainted, his manners so untouched by 
any of these things. He was unassuming and 
simple as a child. 

To him warm and kindly affections belonged 
in no ordinary measure. In the domestic sphere 
this was brightly conspicuous, and spread a 
fascination over the scene. Unmingled with 
moroseness or selfishness, a tender and sympa- 
thizing heart displayed there its power to win 
and bless. Nor could age or anguish check or 
chill the generous current. His affections re- 
mained as strong and ardent to the close as they 
had been in youth. Indeed the last day of his 
life seemed to his family to have been pecu- 
liarly marked by this trait. Several considerate 
and loving acts have left with them the impres- 
sion, that that day was a day of love. Yet that 
the sentiment was not confined to that place, 
nor to his immediate connexions, the numerous 
friends whom he collected round him in the so- 



31 

cial circle, the many persons of all classes who 
knew him, and who regarded him with an af- 
fection altogether peculiar, afford but one de- 
lightful testimony, It was a thing that was felt, 
and left an indelible impression on the heart.* 
He exercised great moderation in the use of 
the bounties of Providence, but in connexion 
with singular liberality and almost unlimited be- 
nevolence. And here I come to that which, it is 
probable, will be universally regarded as the 
strong point of his character. Yet it should be 
distinctly observed, that this very prominent trait 
derives its winning grace and attractiveness in 
this instance, from its union with those other 
qualities of mind and heart I have already men- 
tioned. It was not simply that he gave and 
gave without stint, but it was the kind spirit, the 
unassuming and unostentatious mode in which 
it was done that gave the charm. This, even 
more than the gift, will embalm the recollection 
of his beneficence in the hearts of multitudes 
who have shared it. — Born to an almost princely 
inheritance, while he observed what seemed to 

* An incident may be mentioned without indelicacy, to show the deep 
impression his character produced upon various minds. Visiting Wash' 
ington during the sessions of Congress, after several years of absence, in 
his simple, unobtrusive manner be entered the Hall of Representatives. 
The moment he was observed, I am told, there was so general a move- 
ment to press forward and salute him, that the business of the house 
seemed to have been entirely suspended. 



32 

be required from his affluence and station, lie 
was yet moderate and even self-denying in per- 
sonal indulgence. At the same time, the record 
of his liberality, a -liberality amounting almost 
to profusion, may be read throughout the land, 
in the many churches of different denominations, 
in the institutions of learning of various kinds, 
in works of public utility, and on the lists of our 
various benevolent and religious societies he has 
aided. Of many of these last, he was among 
the very foremost to suggest the plans and the 
most ready to supply the means. An enumera- 
tion of those with which he has long stood in 
honored and useful connection, would embrace 
not only the most prominent, but a large share 
of the whole. For so well was his disposition 
known, that he was always remembered when 
any appeal was to be made to the public. Nor 
did his benevolence stop here, but diffused itself 
abroad, descending by a thousand silent streams 
to the firesides of the poor and destitute. 

" He had a tear for pity, and a hand 
Open as day for melting charity." 

And even to the last, this hallowed flame burned 
brightly. He felt the force of the Saviour's 
w^ords, " the poor ye have always with you." 
Within two days of his decease, and while con- 
fined to his sick chamber, he sent for his agent 



33 

and said to him, "It is very cold! How the 
poor must suffer! Go round and see if there are 
any that want, and give them what they need." 
It was like the good old man. And while a 
whole community utters its loud lament, from 
the widow and fatherless, in the habitations of 
indigence and sorrow, among the children of be- 
reavement and woe, many a silent tear will fall, 
sacred to the meniory of Stephen Van Rensse- 
laer. He knew the luxury of doing good ; and 
" the blessing of him that was ready to perish 
came upon him." Yet on this topic I need not 
dilate. If ever man had a soul to devise liberal 
things, it was he. If ever man felt, in relation 
to the gifts of Providence that he was but a 
steward of God, he felt and acted on the hallow- 
ed principle. So predominant was this trait, 
that it seemed almost to absorb all the rest. He 
was GREAT IN GOODNESS. And more to be covet- 
ed is such renown, than the echoes of applauding 
millions : more fragrant on earth, more blessed 
of high heaven, than all that encircles the kingly 
diadem, or graces the warrior's plume. 

Let us not, however, in admiration of the re- 
sults, mistake or overlook the origin of these no- 
ble principles, nor compliment our fallen nature 
so far as to imagine that his goodness flowed 
from a merely earthly source. We should do 



34 

him injustice and should greatly wrong the truth. 
If we allow that the natural qualities of his heart 
were indeed such as usually conciliate esteem, 
yet are they imperfect and impure in the hest. 
And mere corrupt humanity in her highest efforts 
can mould no character like his. A Howard, a 
Wilberforce might have been kind and benevo- 
lent, and attractive : still it needed the enkin- 
dled flame of holy love, the purifying power of 
gospel faith, the touch of true religion to refine 
and exalt, and direct their virtues, and make 
them what they were. And in him whose good- 
ness we commemorate, precisely this power had 
been exerted. It was in the school of Christ he 
had been taught. Humbly sitting at the feet of 
Jesus, he had learned lessons the world can nev- 
er teach, and had imbibed a spirit unregenerated 
man can never know. And his piety became as 
fervent and sincere as his station was conspicu- 
ous. To the honor of his Saviour, for the sake of 
precious truth, be it then observed, Christianity 
made him what he was. 

He became a professor of religion in connexion 
with this church, on the second day of May, 
1787: and for more than fifty years has be exem- 
plified its doctrines. The views of truth he 
adopted, were those usually denominated Calvin- 
istic. Though there was no tendency to specu- 



35 

lation and nothing disputations in the mainten- 
ance of his opinions, though indeed his mind re- 
volted from every thing of the kind, and he re- 
garded the confusions and conflicts such a tem- 
per has engendered with the utmost pain, yet 
experience, reflection, and a constantly increasing 
intimacy with his Bible had served to confirm his 
sentiments, to which he uniformly adhered with 
full conviction. — Of the entire depravity of his 
nature, his utter unworthiness he was fully per- 
suaded. While he regarded his last severe visit- 
ations as fatherly inflictions, sent in mercy to his 
soul, and even demanding his gratitude, and 
would often say with deep emotion, "I thank 
thee. Lord, for weaning me from the world," 
" Oh ! how shall I be sufficiently grateful :'■ 
while he evinced the most submissive patience 
in his suffering old age, and not a murmur was 
heard to escape his lips, but with a sweet confi- 
dence in God he would employ the expression 
"not my will, but thine be done," yet he also felt 
them to be deserved by him as a sinner. Fre- 
quently was he heard to exclaim in the midst of 
his acute pains, "Holy Father, I deserve it! I 
deserve it!" "My sins are great and many." 
" God be merciful to me a sinner." He distinctly 
recognized God as the author of all he endured, 
and adopted the sentiments of Job, with evident 



36 

acquiescence, "What, shall we receive good at 
the hands of the Lord, and shall we not receive 
evil ?" Realizing that God was speaking to him 
through affliction, he "abhorred himself in dust 
before him." Yet was there mingled with his 
humiliation, the cheering assurance, that ''whom 
the Lord loveth, he chasteneth:" and grievous as 
were his trials, he doubted not they would "work 
the peaceable fruits of righteousness." With 
meek and subdued resignation he kissed the rod, 
and knew who had appointed it. — He cordially 
believed in the necessity of regeneration by the 
special influences of the Spirit, and his sole re- 
liance for pardon and eternal life, was the atone- 
ment by Christ. His personal merits, his good 
works, though the carnal mind is ready to be- 
lieve HE might have had " confidence in the 
flesh," he utterly renounced. To the sacrifice 
on Calvary he turned, as the only source of 
peace. " The death of Christ is my only hope : 
his blood alone can wash away my sins : I look 
for salvation only to the cross: though he slay 
me yet will I trust him ;" these are among the 
recorded testimonies of his faith and hope. In 
such a frame did he prepare for death : on this 
tried foundation did he build for eternity. It 
was his frequent request that his family should 
pray "he might die glorifying God." 



37 

But sentiments and exercises like these are 
not produced in the soul without the presence 
and the use of the fitting means. And though 
his last affliction was regarded as a ministration 
of mercy, and he used it as a means of sanctifi- 
catioUj it was not in that hour only, nor by that 
method alone, that he was carried to such heights 
of holiness: that he was qualified so strikingly to 
exhibit the graces of the Spirit. — He had been 
for a long period, and continued almost to the 
hour of his departure, an attentive and diligent 
reader of the Bible. That blessed volume was 
often in his hand and thus became graven on his 
heart. So uniform was his habit in this respect, 
that a member of his family has remarked to me, 
"he read his Bible more regularly and constantly 
than any person I ever knew. He was accus- 
tomed to read it early in the morning, and by can- 
dlelight in the winter, for an hour or two at a 
time. Not a year passed that his Bible was not 
read through." In his sick chamber, it was his 
constant companion. As a natural consequence, 
it became very familiar to his mind : and very 
many of the Psalms and chapters of other books, 
he had noted on a blank page, probably because 
they were particularly interesting to him. He 
also aboimded in prayer^ and highly valued and 
often asked the prayers of ministers and of God's 



38 

people. It was his known practice to retire 
three times each clay to this duty. And in ad- 
dition to the devotional services known only to 
himself, he marked out a course of morning ex- 
ercises of prayer and reading with his family, 
which of late occupied nearly an hour. Amidst 
the severe pains he endured, this prayerful spirit 
evidently comforted and strengthened him, And 
when, as was frequently the case, he could only 
utter brief expressions, the temper of the saint 
was manifest by such as these: "Strengthen my 
faith." "Enlarge my hopes." "Lord cheer my 
heart." "Holy Father sustain me." 

The same care he exercised in the cultivation of 
personal holiness, he displayed in his domestic re- 
lations, and as a father was especially faithful and 
attentive to the moral and religious instruction of 
his family. On the Sabbath morning, before the 
public service, all were called to read the Bible. 
And in the afternoon, after church, he heard each 
separately, recite the commandments, a lesson 
in the Catechism, and such hymns as had been 
committed to memory. How punctual he was 
in all external duties, how early and regularly 
he was in his seat in the house of God, and at 
every service, while he was able to attend, I 
need not mention. He was an engaged, diligent 
follower of the Redeemer. Embracing the truth 



39 

as his comfort and hope, he walked in all the 
commandments and ordinances of the Lord 
blameless. His religion gaining warmth and 
vigor in the closet and from the w^ord of God, 
extended its benign and transforming influence 
to every duty and over every relation : and this 
was the secret of his high and holy pre-eminence. 
When we learn such facts, we cease to wonder 
that his character was so subdued, his conduct 
so unblameable, his example so impressive in the 
world. 

His death answered with a singular correspon- 
dence to the tenor of his life. He had long stood 
ready. With patriarchal simplicity, he observed 
but a few days previously, as if anticipating the 
event to be near at hand, "I wish I might once 
more gather all my children around me, to bless 
them before I die, and tell them how good God 
has been to me." That wish was denied, but 
his name and his virtues remain to bless them. 
On the morning of the day on which he w as ta- 
ken to his rest, he had read from "Jay's Exerci- 
ses," according to his custom, a meditation on 
death ; and had marked the book for his Sab- 
bath morning's devotion, at a beautiful descrip- 
tion of the bliss of heaven, from the passage, "the 
inhabitant shall not say, I am sick." Instead of 
reading, he was permitted to go and enjoy the re- 



40 

ality. He expired suddenly on Saturday after- 
noon January 26. Having been seized with 
couching, he rose to obtain some relief, and the 
difficulty seeming to increase, he said to a son 
who was with him, " Can this be dying." He re- 
gained his chair, and while his family collected 
round and were hanging over him, his spirit was 
released so quietly that the moment was unper- 
ceived by them. 

Such, brethren, was the friend we have lost: 
a loss the magnitude of which is yet to be re- 
alized, but which may be partially estimated 
from the grief it has caused wherever it has 
been announced. Contemplated entire, there 
was observed in him an admirable blendinor of 
the rarest virtues, all ennobled by the opera- 
tions of divine grace. In my sober conviction, 
he was one of the very best men the world has 
ever seen : one of a class, of whom but few ap- 
pear in any age. I am not conscious of having 
beautified beyond nature, or colored too highly a 
single feature of the lovely picture. It was not 
my purpose. 'Tis not by pomp of words, nor 

studied phrase, nor yet by sculptured stone, his 
worth is to be duly honored. His deeds live af- 
ter him. The simple story of his life and death, 
the tale of each day's acts could it be recalled, 
this were his most becoming, most enduring mo- 
nument. 



41 

Ere we leave the subject, let us pause a mo 
ment, to meditate upon this most instructive ex- 
ample. To what multitudes, and with w^Jiat em- 
phasis does it speak? Come hither ye rich and 
gay, ye elevated and aspiring, and attend to the 
words of truth and soberness. With affluence 
and standing, such as few can boast, you have 
seen "what manner of conversation he had" in 
the world. He made not riches the object of his 
idolatry, nor allowed them to minister to the 
lusts of the flesh or the pride of life : he employed 
them as became a faithful almoner of Provi- 
dence, in doing good, dispensing benefits to thou- 
sands. Amidst the allurements and temptations 
which surrounded him, he kept himself unspotted 
from the world. Under circumstances, usually 
regarded as little favorable to a course of humble 
and consistent piety, he presented the rich, and 
varied, and resplendent beauties of the Christian 
character. Learn here the worth of honors, the 
uses of wealth, and above all the excellence of 
true religion. In dignity, in real grandeur, in 
elevation and usefulness, such a man rises to an 
immeasurable height above what the world can 
produce. And his reward is infinitely more de- 
sirable. " The memory of the just shall be bless- 
ed." The honors he laid at the foot of the cross, 
are succeeded by the "crown of righteousness 

6 



42 

that fadeth not away:" the riches he scattered 
with such beneficence, are replaced by " du- 
rable riches at God's right hand." Go, child of 
prosperity, votary of greatness, " Go thou and 

DO LIKEWISE." 

Christians, w^hile you adore the condescension 
of God in the dispensation of his mercy, and as- 
cribe to him all praise who makes us alive 
through Jesus Christ, be ye also instructed. See 
what obedience to the Saviour, a sincere desire 
to become truly holy, and a diligent use of the 
means of grace can effect. Our beloved father 
was not indifferent to his spiritual state, nor to 
his improvement: he sought and labored to be 
conformed to the likeness of Christ, and to be- 
come fitted for bis glory. Though you may not 
be rich and great, yet is there anything that ren- 
ders it impossible for you wath equal care, to be- 
come equally a Christian 7 Hear and obey the 
admonition : " Whose faith follow, considering 
the end of their conversation, Jesus Christ, the 
same yesterday, to-day and forever." 

Finally, there are consolations mingled with 
the sorrows of this hour. In sucli a recital as 
that you have heard, we behold " the patience 
and the victory of the saints." And though to 
his bereaved family ther separation is indeed se- 
vere: though the church mourns, and well in- 



■^*^. 



^«# 



43 

deed she may: though a wide and painful breach 
is made in the ranks of benevolence, and '' it is 
as when a standard bearer fainteth," yet have we 
no reason to grieve, none to despair. He has 
entered into peace ; and shall we wish him back 
again ? God reigns : the cause is his own, shall 
we distrust him? No ! He can, he will raise up 
instruments to perform his work. Wherefore, 
comfort one another with these words. 

Farewell, then, beloved, venerated friend. 
Long, long shall it be ere thy memory is effaced : 
long ere thy name shall be pronounced without 
a throb of tenderness. We have buried thee 
with thy fathers. There soft be thy slumbers, 
till the morning light dispel the darkness of the 
tomb. For thee " we sorrow not, even as others 
which have no hope." For " I heard a voice 
from heaven, saying unto me, Write, Blessed are 
the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth : 
Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from 
their labors : and their works do follow them." 
Amen. 



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